


One of Them

by teapig



Series: The Terror one-shots [2]
Category: The Terror (2018 TV series)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Silence is Scared, introductions gone awry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2019-04-27 23:11:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14436186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teapig/pseuds/teapig
Summary: The arrival of foreigners turn Silence's life onto a far more complicated course.





	One of Them

**Author's Note:**

> A birthday present for my gal Yonna (even though it's VERY NEARLY MIDNIGHT) - unfortunately it's me writing, so it got miserable. Sorry about that...!

The first time she’d seen him, he’d been one of Them. Emerging from the same place as the whatever it was that had knocked the life out of her father, hands raised momentarily as he was also put at the mercy of their weapons. They continued to ignore her pleas, roughly holding her back from where her father was lying as they sent this man closer instead. _Who gave him the right to get that close? And what were they going to do to him next?_ Her terrified mind asked. At least this one had the gall to look mildly guilty before he vanished back to where he came.  
  
The next few days fell into a blur – They were taking him somewhere, and without being able to understand the brief words they flung into her face, she had no choice but to follow. She’d heard that the foreign lands often assumed her people to be savages, cold-hearted, brutal and cruel – yet now it seemed more like this reflected on them rather than her. They didn’t try to hide when they spoke about her; their gestures, harsh glares, and lowered voices were full of suspicion as they continued to call her the “esqui girl”. The latter was completely unfamiliar to her – but she knew what they meant by the former. _I may not be like you, but the eskimo are not my people. Why can’t they ever understand that?_ They had led her towards two great wooden hulks, held fast by the ice, and swarming with more of Them, hollering and heckling as if waiting for some spectacle to unfold. _Is that what they’ve brought us here for?_ The nervous man, the one with the middle of his beard missing, had been returning constantly to loom over her father – however, his kind face wasn’t enough to soothe her fear, as he may just as well be sizing him up for whatever they had planned for the two of them next.

There were more like the one Tuunbaq had taken on the ‘ship’ – all dressed in the same, impractical way, and all seemingly agitated by her very existence. The dim light of the lower decks did not hide the disapproval on their faces, nor the sheer boredom of one, nor the dismissive tones to their voices. _I may not understand what you’re saying, but I don’t think much to you right now, either._ They’d brought her father down here, and now stood around, saying little, and doing even less. The man who had been watching over him on their return journey seemed to be asking for something – and seconds later, he was flying towards her father with sharp blades poised. _Why do you look at me with disgust, when it’s you who brought us here? What gave you the right to do this to us, and to expect me to stand by while you hurt him?_ Another of them had arrived – and to her sheer surprise, he had some knowledge of her language. It was garbled, halting and lurching as his strange accent marred the syllables. She desperately tried to make him understand – this was no place for a shaman, especially not an injured one – he needed to be out at the ice, where they belonged, and not trapped in here. He claimed that, after all this, that same man who had been watching her father like a hawk waiting to strike, was intending to help. But as he continued to cause more and more pain, he seemed to get more flustered, before looking up, hopelessness in his eyes. She didn’t need to wait for the translation to know what he would say.

The next hours, days, months all seemed to blur into one another, as she began to learn to live without her father, trying to fill his shoes far before she was ready to. Everything about this situation felt so wrong – with Them so nearby to her home, she lived in trepidation, aware that she was being observed; stalked, like prey, by a predator she barely understood. When They came for her again, she was less surprised than she could have been – it was only ever going to be a matter of time. _If I stay silent, if I don’t move, maybe they won’t startle too soon._ She didn’t recognise these men in particular, and yet they clearly had a plan for her. Last time, she’d had her father to fight for – now, it was just this limbo-like existence, which was no longer as dear to her as it once had been. As she knelt on the deck, it almost seemed as if they’d beat her to death there and then; thus, when they got her out of there, dragging her across the ice to the second ship, she hung back in the corner of the room, waiting for them, and their volatile weapons, to come to drag her somewhere else.   
  
The next person she saw, however, was familiar – nervous as he had been last time, he came in with some sort of shame written across his face. _So, you remember what you did. At least you learnt to regret it._ Cautiously, he set a board down, which held several strange foods on it – being somewhat afraid of angering him, she had no choice but to approach it. He continued to talk, halting occasionally when he realised quite how little sense he was making to her, and starting once again to make things simpler. Normally, she would have held the grudge – yet at this point, she was grateful for any kindnesses that They showed her, and she wasn’t going to risk anything when he was trying to make amends. There were times he sounded confident in what he was saying; yet at others, his voice softened and wavered – his eyebrows furrowing, he looked almost lost.  _So you're afraid too._ He continually pointed to himself, with foreign words on his lips – “London” was one, which he paired with Nunavut – that must be his home. The other, she guessed, was his name. Earnestly pressing his hand to his chest, he repeated it again and again. “Goodsir”, he’d say, before pointing towards her almost desperately; his eyes pleading: _Tr_ _ust me. Forgive me. Trust me_. Outside, she heard one of the more hostile men shifted in his seat. _Even if I did trust you, he can hear me too. And I can’t trust you all yet._  
As he got up to leave, still rambling on as he did so, he looked back one more time.  
“Goodsir.” he said.  
_Silna_.


End file.
